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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102571">Visions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/pseuds/FleetSparrow'>FleetSparrow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Story a Day in May 2020 [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drug Use, Gen, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, That's already a tag omfg gdi Sherlock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:02:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>979</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102571</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/pseuds/FleetSparrow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock tries a new drug and Watson is there to hold him through the night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Story a Day in May 2020 [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Visions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I woke to a scream from Holmes’ room.  The house was quite cool and my wound ached as I rushed from the warmth of my bed to my friend’s side.  He was paler than usual, his pupils dilated from some drug, I surmised.  He was sitting so rigidly straight in his bed, I feared that he had been paralyzed.  However, when he felt my presence in the room—and I say “felt” rather than “saw” because his eyes were still unfocused—he reached for me.</p>
<p>“Watson!”</p>
<p>“I’m here, Holmes!”</p>
<p>He clutched my arms, his long fingers gripping my flesh with such severity I was sure there would be marks upon them come morning.  His breath came in ragged spurts.  I looked for his usual hypodermic, but I could not find it.  I did notice strange plant buttons on his bedside table which I could not identify.</p>
<p>“What in God’s name were you doing, man?” I asked, my tone soft.</p>
<p>He did not answer, but continued to clutch at me.  I had, to this point, been standing by his bedside, but now I sat beside him.  I managed to free one arm from his vice-like grip and wrap it around him.</p>
<p>“Now, Holmes, tell me.  What’s happened?”</p>
<p>His breathing was becoming less haggard, though his eyes were still wide.</p>
<p>“Watson,” he whispered.  “I saw God.  He spoke to me.”</p>
<p>Whatever he had dosed himself with, it must have been quite potent.</p>
<p>“And what did He say?” I asked, gently trying to push him back down onto the bed.</p>
<p>“I don’t remember,” he said, suddenly relaxing in my grip so that I nearly dropped him.  “I think I screamed.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you did,” I said.  I managed to get him back into a restful position.  I looked around for something to sit on to remain in vigil for him through his haze.  Finding none, I rose to fetch one of the chairs from the sitting room.  He grabbed me again.</p>
<p>“Stay!”</p>
<p>“I’m returning in a moment,” I assured him.</p>
<p>“No!  Don’t leave me!”</p>
<p>I sat back down and, with surprising strength considering his condition, he pulled me down to lie beside him.</p>
<p>“Holmes, are you sure you—”</p>
<p>“Please, Watson.  Don’t leave me alone.”  His voice was pleading.</p>
<p>“I won’t, Holmes.”</p>
<p>I did, however, make as full an examination of him as I could, though he could not coherently respond to my questions at the time.  I will note what I did find:</p>
<ul>
<li>His muscles were generally weak,</li>
<li>He could barely wet his lips,</li>
<li>His eyes I have mentioned above,</li>
<li>His hands shook,</li>
<li>His teeth chattered, and, he told me quite confidently,</li>
<li>He could taste textures.</li>
</ul>
<p>But as to what the strange plants were and what it was he had taken, he would not say.</p>
<p>Presently, I laid back down beside him.  He clung to me like a child, tucking his head into my shoulder.  I rubbed his back in small circles as my arm slowly went numb from our position.  It never once occurred to me that there was anything strange about my joining him.  In fact, I considered it my duty to look after him during the whole night.</p>
<p>Eventually, after several hours of silent wakefulness, his eyes shut, and I allowed myself to relax.  Holmes twitched and groaned in his sleep.  The next thing I knew, it was well into morning.</p>
<p>Holmes was still sleeping in my arms, his face finally relaxed.  I could barely feel my arm beneath him, but I didn’t dare move him.  I closed my eyes, but sleep did not overtake me again.  I listened to the sounds of the city outside, marveling at the different noises I heard.</p>
<p>I felt Holmes move before I was aware he was awake.  I opened my eyes to find him staring at me.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Holmes.”</p>
<p>He blinked at me and I noticed most of the dilation had gone away.</p>
<p>“I fear it is rather nearly lunchtime,” he said.</p>
<p>I laughed.  “You’re probably right.  Are you able to get up?”</p>
<p>It took some effort from both of us, for his muscles were still weak, but we managed to get him out of bed and into his dressing gown.  I rang for lunch and, by the time it was brought up, Holmes had regained some of his natural color.</p>
<p>“What exact did I say to you last night, Watson?  I remember speaking, but I can’t seem to remember whether I really did or merely dreamed it all.”</p>
<p>“You said that you saw God and that He spoke to you, but you couldn’t recall what He said, only that you screamed when He did.  You did, by the way, scream.  That’s how I knew to look in on you.  You also said you could taste textures.”</p>
<p>Holmes groaned.  “I was afraid of something like that.”</p>
<p>“What on Earth had you consumed to put you in such a state?” I asked.</p>
<p>He went to his bedroom and fetched the plant buttons I had seen there.</p>
<p>“These are what the Native Americans call ‘peyote.’  An acquaintance of mine had acquired some and wanted to know if they could make a person violent if taken in a large enough dose.”</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me you took an unknown drug as an experiment!  You could have been killed!”</p>
<p>“I was going to work up to the dosage,” he said, petulantly.  “But I think, perhaps, this is one experiment I can afford to not repeat.”</p>
<p>“I should hope you don’t,” I said, perhaps more sternly than was necessary.  But, I must confess, it had unnerved me to see my dear friend in such a helpless state.  “Besides, it seems as though this drug only dulls your great senses.”</p>
<p>“You are most likely right,” he said.  He poked at his food, then held up a forkful and peered at it.  “I wonder what I meant by tasting textures.”</p>
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